“What the fuck do you want?” Lucky slammed his laptop closed. Nothing exciting on the screen, but he still wasn’t sharing with the jerkoff grinning like an idiot who’d dared invade his cube.
“Jameson wants you to send me all the rookie files. I’m taking over their training.” Owen Landry showed far too many teeth.
Removing some of them with a fist might be good stress relief, but Lucky controlled himself.
For now. Lucky gave his best “Duh” look. “They’re where they always are, on the department drive under Training Records. You know, T-R-A-I—”
“I know how to spell, asshole. I’m just letting you know I’m taking over,” Landry snapped.
“So I’ve already been told.” If only Lucky’s laser beam glare actually burned things to a cinder…
“I told you your days were numbered.”
Lucky put on a serious face. “Let me ask you something. I’m dying to know.”
Landry frowned and took the bait. “What?”
“You’re so far up O’Donoghue’s ass, how far do you fly when he farts?”
Landry stormed down the hall.
Heh. At least Lucky got in the last word.
Little good it did.
***
Lucky shoved his laptop into his computer bag, though why he needed to take work home over a weekend he had no idea. It wasn’t like his current duties amounted to much.
Rookies averted their gazes and darted out of his way when he shouldered his bag and slunk to the elevator, which wasn’t unusual. At least he got his own car today and didn’t have to wait for Bo to get back.
His phone chimed on the way down. It had better not be O’Donoghue.
Instead, a text from Bo said,“Come by Spencer’s Bar.”
Lucky drove to one of the less popular areas of Atlanta, found a not-too-terribly-seedy parking garage, and trudged down the ramp toward his destination. Wow. He hadn’t been here in a while, but when Bo called, Lucky came running.
And the guy knew it.
No telling what kind of case brought Bo here. At least the place wasn’t a strip club. With every little thing chipping away at Lucky’s ego, he didn’t need to watch a bunch of men drooling over his nearly-naked lover. Successful men. In business suits. Fantasizing about the lover who said no to being his husband.
Lucky paused at the mouth of the alley beside the building. The last time he’d been here he’d played cop and perp while Bo trained for undercover work. He’d learned well. Too well. Lucky missed the lessons.
He rearranged his swelling cock at the memory.
A light flickered at the end of the alley. Probably some drunk slipped out the back door to fire up a joint. No point in having one if he didn’t flash his badge now and then. Busting someone might help him feel more like his old self.
He patted the spot where his gun should be. Crap. He hadn’t brought his shoulder holster. Best to go inside and forget he saw anything—or alert Atlanta’s finest.
“What are you waiting for?” came a soft voice from the darkness.
Lucky squinted at the gloom. “Bo? What are you doing back here?” He hadn’t ambushed Bo in years, but nothing said Bo couldn’t get some payback.
One careful footstep at a time, Lucky trudged down the alley. No sound. No more glimmer from a cigarette lighter.
“Bo?” He’d nearly reached the end of the alley.
Nothing. Not that he’d hear anything over the off-beatthumpa-thumpareverberating from the bar. The inner gut feeling he’d come to rely on said he wasn’t alone, and he hadn’t imagined Bo’s voice.
